TAA Valentines Day 2005: Tacky
by PurplePiplup
Summary: We all know Rubeus dislikes cute, and cuddly, and pink. But...Even on Valentine's Day? Yeah, it's REALLY late. And yeah, it's rated R because I'm fearful of some touchy people reading a couple of parts and freaking out. Heh...


**TACKY :** _Dedicated to the two best-best friends anyone could ever ask for.  
_Yes, I know it's WAY late, but I haven't been feeling well lately. And no, this ISN'T what I think of our friendship. XD ThOH at would be mean, sick, and evil! No-no-no, this is just to be silly and insane. ALWAYS good. So anyway, this is the Valentine's Day special for 2005, and it comes from WAY too much free time, and talking to **rainflower** for way too long. So this be dedicated to Mochi and our "friend-relation-whateveryoucallitship", and to Matsu and our Tabby-torturing, Maxie-mocking sister-ness.

**Oh yes:** And if you'd like some of the inspiration I had for this, check out the song "_When You're Evil_", by Voltaire. It even _sounds_ like Petie! AHH!

* * *

_Valentine's Day. What a disgustingly _happy_ holiday it is. Why must we merchandise such frivolous feelings into stuffed teddy bears and boxes of overly-fattening treats? I want to see hatred turned into a holiday, and I don't mean that candy-inflated Halloween crap either. I want Hell to run amuck for _real_ for just one day out of the year, and show these chocolate-coated lovebirds what real life is all about. _

_This happy pink and white and red goo has got to go. It's rotting our brains as much as, if not more so, than our teeth, and it's turning our chromosomes into gruel. We're diluting our youth into thinking there's some little chibi-angel out there who, on some hap-hap-happy day of the year, will make everyone fall in love and live happily ever after. Have we no idea how much we're warping these poor children into believing this nonsense? It's really actually depressing me, to think of all the chaos just one generation of these little clones could produce, if not fed by these ridiculous lies. _

_Hearts? Those are for saps._

_Candy? For women and small children._

_Cards? They make nice fodder, and that's about all._

_Flowers? Just like everything else, they live atrociously, and die beautifully. _

_Plushies? Chew toys, at their very best._

_Angels? Don't even get me started._

_Wine? …OK, wine might be all right if taken in large enough quantities._

_Love? Please, don't make me puke._

_Love…Love-love-love. The side of lust seen legal in the eyes of God. Where's all the fun in it if it's not forbidden by someone? This "love" thing is what's behind this ludicrous little holiday. Oh, I know you're all moaning out there, complaining to me that "everyone is able to love". Bullshit! Don't give me that happy-slappy, sweet-and-sour load of cow manure. It would do for the world to see such a stupid emotion wiped clean off its face, preferably before I decide to bring it to an end. I want to see hatred, and lust, and jealousy, and anger. I want to see it all. I want to see the world brought to its knees before me, and I want to watch it crumble beneath my feet. And I want to see that giddy little wench with that jingly little bell of hers go with it, along with everything she oh-so loves. And oh what a sight it would be! _

_And still…_

_With all these things to long for, to wish and hope for, there is one thing that I have always wanted more. Why is that, do you suppose?_

_

* * *

_

_Silence. _Beautiful and dark, the night sky hung above, cluttered with stars from east to west, north to south, and everywhere in between. The air held a whiff of chocolate that seemed to spread for miles in every direction, flowing with the cool breezes. For most, this would seem like the perfect night to precede the day before Saint Valentine's Day, with the moon hanging poised to grow full on that particular day. Romantic, some would call it. What would he call it? He'd call it bright. Damn-near too bright. The pale yellow haze that surrounded it disturbed him; it looked far too peaceful.

The almost melodic chirping of the crickets hidden in the brush around him was beginning to agitate him, sapping him to his very core and poking at the inside of his stress-ridden psyche. He had a good mind to scream at them to shut up and leave him alone, but knew that'd only make him look foolish, if not also insane. Instead, the little pests continued their methodical serenade, seeming poised to annoy him to the ends of the earth and back again. And it was working. All the strength he could muster, and he still was unable to silence a few pesky little bugs.

Sighing, he opted to relax as much as possible before those silly little tree-toads of his decided to come springing back to croak at him about this, that, and the other thing. He crossed his arms, tucking his hands into the opposite elbows, and tipped over to lean on the mossy bark of the tree beside him. His stomach growled and broke the silence, and he muttered down to it to shut up; he wasn't in the mood to eat. Great, now he was having conversations with his own internal organs.

He ground out another, longer sigh, rolling between the knuckles of one half-tucked hand a tiny bead of flames. Around the side of his hand it went, scooped up into his palm and extinguished in one crushing fist. The bark encasing the tree he leaned on was beginning to glow an angry, fiery red, and grew to pulse with a scolding heat, which he ignored without even a glance. The inside of that poor, victimized tree was being burnt to a crisp, while the outside merely let off wave after wave of scorching warmth. To think that a simple lit window had called this much of his attention.

She was sitting there, in an oak wood chair cushioned with maroon, in front of the bureau beside the window, combing her hair with a brush that matched the make of the furniture. Her short blond locks fluttered and puffed with each stroke, and then settled just above her shoulders with almost self-planned accuracy. The silky black material of the gown she wore, along with the long velvety robe that covered her shoulders, shined differently in the light each time she moved, and though cut to her form, was not tight. It swayed with her; swished with her; followed her every move as gracefully as she brought it into motion; and showed her for what she really was; painfully attractive.

An object of much admiration, and a tribute to all things beautiful in his eyes. She personified glorious, and his holiest of things, and was the subject of a deep, seething lust that would never leave him. So many times he lay awake with it clawing at him from the lowest pits of his soul, and so many times he almost gave in. So many times that he almost let himself fall prey to the ache that twisted his heart in every imaginable, uncountable number of directions.

He couldn't. He shouldn't. He wouldn't. He did.

And so he stood, silently singing his shoulda-coulda-woulda's, to a woman who couldn't even see, much less hear him. He would enjoy this while he could; this watching her, thinking of her, imagining her, and dreaming his every dream of her. It would be about as close as he got to her for a long, long time.

* * *

"Is he…Asleep, do you think?" 

"How do you expect us to know?"

"I think he's sleeping."

"How hard can it be to tell whether someone is sleeping or awake?"

Well, with Petie, one never can tell. He'd been standing there, leaning on that same exact tree, with one foot up on the trunk and his arms tightly crossed, for over an hour. Standing beside him, his four companions leaned closer…And closer…And closer…Two on each side of him. On one side a blond and a redhead, and on the other a brunette and raven-haired young woman. Three of them wanted to prod him; wake him, so that they could discover what it was he wanted them to do. The fourth…Pretty much didn't care what he had to say, but she was around anyway.

The blond tilted her head, her pigtails bobbing side to side, and one blue eye narrowed as she leaned in, to have an even closer examination. Dressed in baggy dark pink pants and a tightly-buttoned, low v-necked shirt reaching only to the middle of her stomach, some may wonder how dear Peter was able to sleep (or stand so still, whichever) with her staring at him. She raised one purple-booted foot from the ground for extra length to lean down into his face, the chain belt at her waist jangling.

"If he _is_ asleep and he wakes up with you standing there, Flavia, you're going to get your head handed to you."

The blond turned her attention only partially to the brunette standing across from her. Her short hair parted to her left instead of in the center of her head, and her bangs were puffed all to the opposite side. A grey spaghetti-strapped shirt stretched only so far as the top of her stomach, and her tight blue shorts hardly covered half her thighs. Black boots with silver zippers concealed from her knees down, and her brown eyes rolled when Flavia stood up straight and sighed.

"Don't be so mean to her, Magna. You know you want to know if he's awake just as much as she does, and so do I."

Both Magna and Flavia turned and looked up into the bright-bright green eyes of the black-haired member of their troop. Her tight little mini skirt and the bikini-like top she wore matched in color the knee-high boots she boasted, and the mesh that covered everything from her neck to her feet, except her hands. All the same deep, deep navy blue, it made her stand out even more than she would have in somewhat more "normal" attire; tall and imposing, she towered above the other three girls by a good four inches on the tallest one.

"Oh come on, Charlene…You can't _honestly_ be that obsessive over him, can you? He doesn't belong to _you_."

Charlene's only reply to the firmly-standing young woman behind her was a loud snort. Contrasting astoundingly the other three young women around the "sleeping" Rubeus, her bright orange-red hair was combed tight to her head and held hardly any length in the back. Her orange eyes encircled with red narrowed at her three "companions" as they stared over at her in her red skirt and her double-strapped orange top. The belt she wore, though it wasn't at all attached to her skirt, wrapped tightly around her waist and matched the smaller belt at her neck; black with a gold buckle. Black boots ever so much taller than those Magna and Charlene wore were her footwear of choice, each with a single gold zipper on the outside.

Razor-sharp looks escalated through the four companions of the Dismissed Master at their side, and tensions were beginning to rise. Blood pressures were shooting up, and hearts were pounding faster. And so they were; the "_brides_" of Sekinetsu. Flavia Tatevali: the flighty blond with pigtails as perky as she was; Magna Verbti: the reasonable brunette whose quiet mannerism had deceived quite a few; Charlene Agnisum: tall and slender with jet black hair and eyes bright enough to burn; and Gypsy Seditio: fiery red-head with the heart of a rebel leader.

Created with the vampiric blood circulating through the Master's veins, as the brides of Dracula once had, they vied for his attention. He held their hearts on strings, and was not at all hesitant to cut any one, or even all of them loose. He could always just make more, after all. That was, perhaps, the only reason they were careful not to argue in front of him. Any one wrong move, and _snip-snap_; no more disturbances out of _them_. They'd be left without him; without the abilities he "blessed" them so generously with. The power of fire was theirs now, to be had at will, but little did any of them realize the kinds of consequences such things could bring. They were no longer human; turned to blood-sucking demons from the lowest reaches of Hell and the right side of the Devil's throne. And all from allowing themselves to be seduced by the promise of power and conquest.

Fairly quietly, or at least as much so as possible, the little groupies began to ram their horns together; bickering and snapping at each other. Somehow or another an argument had started between Magna, Charlene, and Flavia, even though not one of them had said a thing to the others to trigger such vicious words. Gypsy, in her typical "I'm a bad-ass know-it-all bitch-face" manner, stood back with her arms crossed, merely observing the spectacle from a step or two away, wondering how long it was going to take them to set off the fire alarm still leaning to that tree. Not long, as it turns out. It was plain to see the man was awake, ogling them with one eye and growing ever so gradually more and more agitated. Gypsy rolled her eyes around at _least_ three times as her three "sisters" literally slammed their foreheads together.

"_My_, Miss Seditio…You fight so fervently for me. I'm very glad you feel so strongly for your Master. I'm _excruciatingly_ flattered."

Charlene, Magna and Flavia all were _more_ than ready, willing, and able to redirect their attention onto the source of all their bickering. They each let out their own distinct squeal, of sorts, and turned to line up one beside the other with precise form. Pretty surprising for a troop of bimbo groupies, with enough helium in their heads to fully inflate a Zeppelin or two. On the count of three now, everyone; one - two - three -

"Master!"

…Oh yuck.

"We thought you were asleep!"

"You look so stoic and handsome when you think like that!"

"So strong, so serious, so…Intensely perfect!"

Rubeus stood, the picture of uncaring, with his arms loosely crossed across his chest and his eyes flicking from one young woman to another. Covered from head to toe in black, black, and - oh yeah - _black_, he stood an inch or so taller than Charlene and towered over Magna. His long black coat passed his ankles, and from his turtleneck to his pants to his boots and gloves, he retained the same color. The only hint of another color to his attire was the silver buckle on his black belt and the diamond-shaped pendant of silver hanging on a chain of the same metal at his neck. His eyes burned red with a swirl of bright neon yellow, and his hair, though slightly mussed from leaning on that tree for so long, was slicked back tight to his head, as it always was.

He sighed, lowering his head, and groaned irritably as the three young ladies in front of him proceeded to continue coddling him. Flavia wrapped both arms tightly around his right elbow, squeezing it tightly and chirping about how strong his arm felt, even underneath that coat and shirt. Magna held securely to his left hand, running one finger along the outline of each of his, and telling him how warm his hand was through his glove, and of course, how much she liked it. Charlene tossed both arms around his neck from behind, standing on her toes, and leaned her chin along side his neck to comment on how broad and nice his shoulders were for leaning. He could _really_ have done without this right now…Not that he minded the attention…But could they have _possibly_ have gotten anymore _coy_ about it? I mean _really_…They were being so modest about it, he could hardly hear them; over the giggling of the other two while the third was talking, that is.

Snorting to herself about "those three imbeciles", Gypsy merely stood at attention a few feet in front of her "Master", waiting for him to acknowledge her. She did so adore that man. And what a fine specimen of a man he was at that; tall and built to kill, with the most engaging eyes she'd ever had the pleasure of looking into, filled with fire and an extremity of passion. His mannerism was far more than just charming, and his voice, deep and monotone, was as seductive and warm as it was terrifying, and chilled her to the bone with every well-spoken baritone word. He feared nothing, took what he wanted without question, and knew how to use those powerful hands of his to his own _wicked_ ends, and quite noticeably to the ends of the women whose company he did so enjoy sharing.

But those other three he hauled along with him…Those three little incompetent airheads, clinging to _her_ man. She knew, for a fact, that they were dumped upon him unavoidably by that silly little blue book that woman with the purple hair always carried with her. But her…No, Sekinetsu had only three assigned brides that he was to replace each lifetime. She was something special. She was with him because he wanted her there; the unannounced fourth bride of the Dark Lord Sekinetsu, the embodiment of the Devil. He lived inside that alluring example of man, somewhere dormant in his mind and soul, waiting to awaken to the light of the world, so that he could crush it in an iron fist, and condemn the world to the darkness he so cherished and had learned to rule. But those _other three_…Always arguing and whining for his attention; for his time; for his touch. He was _hers_, did they not see? Hers and hers alone. She didn't even mind that woman he'd been watching in that window the night before, lusting away for, but these three…Next chance she had, she would burn that book, and send those three into the hottest, deepest, most painful reaches of the underworld. And she would be alone with him, as it was clearly meant to be.

As Gypsy stood and plotted silently their demise, Charlene, Magna and Flavia went on about praising their diluted little hearts out and adhering to their Master's sides. None of them was offered even a single glance in return for all their plainly seeking remarks, excepting that first little ogle he'd given each of them upon "waking up". Instead he just shut his eyes again, and went on about the all-important task of _standing_. Now if _that's_ not important, _I_ don't know what is.

"Masteeer…" Flavia chirped, slightly cat-mouthed and rubbing her cheek on the back of Rubeus' hand, "Do you know what tomorrow is? It's Valentine's Day, Master."

She shrieked as Rubeus snatched his hand quickly away from her, and she toppled head-first onto the ground, "Ohh, that was a good idea, Flavia…" Charlene shook her head as Rubeus marched away from them, "Master Rubeus doesn't _like_ Valentine's Day."

"But why not?" Flavia whined, sitting up on her knees with her hands down in front of her, "Valentine's Day is such a _cute_ holiday!"

"That's precisely _why_ he doesn't like it, you twit," Magna shook her head slowly, crossing her arms, "Our Master dislikes _cute_. You know that."

"But…I wanted to spend Valentine's Day with him…" Flavia whimpered, pouting lowly, "He's my Valentine, after all…"

"How _old_ are you?" Charlene groaned, slapping her forehead, "And besides, if he was _anyone's_ Valentine, he'd be _mine_."

"You're off your nut," Magna pursed her lips, "Our Master would surely be _my_ Valentine."

"You're all insane," Gypsy snapped, receiving wicked glares from the other three girls, "There's only one true Valentine for our Master. And I assure you it's not any of _you_."

"Well if it's none of _us_ then it's not _you_ either," Charlene pointed out, growing a wicked grin to counter the vicious glare Gypsy catapulted into her.

"Ohh…I know!" Flavia threw one hand into the air, oblivious to the silent altercation between Gypsy and Charlene, "It's that blond woman, right? The one with the purple eyes!"

No one seemed to notice the even more spiteful look that overtook Gypsy's eyes, "You mean that Medira woman?" Magna questioned, crossing her arms and leaning on a tree, "The one that lives with the Elite?"

"Don't be stupid, Flavia," Charlene waved her hand side to side in front of her face, "That woman is an Elite; one of the Divine. Our Master has no time to trifle on about _her_."

"_My Master_," Gypsy snorted roughly, "Doesn't _have_ a Valentine anyway. He has no need for such frivolous things. He's said so himself. Isn't that right, Master?"

There was a long pause, and all four girls suddenly began to look around in all directions, "…Where'd he go?" three of them whimpered, "_Where_ did our Master go!"

"_You three_…"

* * *

_Those women…_How much more annoying could four humans be? Even through his experience, he banked not much. Between the yelling and the screaming and the shouting and bitching and the whining…He'd had to get out of there or he would have blown a gasket and sent them all sky-high. Not that he was at all opposed to ridding himself of the clingy little quartet, but trying to clean up afterwards would have been more than bothersome. 

…How much more could four humans be? Even through his experience, he banked . Between the yelling and the screaming and the shouting and bitching and the whining…He'd had to get out of there or he would have blown a gasket and sent them all sky-high. Not that he was at all opposed to ridding himself of the clingy little quartet, but trying to clean up afterwards would have been more than bothersome.

Instead he slithered, his lower half in shadow, between trees and under bushes and out into the open air of the yard behind that oh-so-large building at the end of the city. _Oh_ how he loathed that place…Except for that one room; that room that had been his at one point, and was now hers. He wanted to see it again, he told himself, and not because it was _her_ room. No! Of course not! His reasons were much less…Noble than that.

Peeking left, then right, he fell effortlessly into full shadow and warped his way around the back of the wooden stables in the backyard and up to the back wall of the building. Climbing up the wall, his blackness clinging and pulling like vines, he counted up to the next-to-top floor and slunk around the corner to the southern wall. He'd grown far more adept with using this form of his power since he'd first started using it merely to travel unseen. He could do much, much more than that now; using it to scale flat surfaces and slip between the cracks of doors or keyholes and other such things. He still needed to figure out a way to use it in full sunlight though, and thankfully had been able to use cloud cover and the position of the sun in the sky to get across the yard.

Hauling himself, as a fully 3D being, over the top of the railing on the balcony nearest him, he pressed his back against the wall along side the door and peeked silently around. The glass doors were closed, and obviously locked, and he swung around to press his forehead on the upper-most panel to see inside. The room stood empty, and from what he could tell, also silent. He wanted in, and he intended on _getting_ what he wanted. Turning back around and ogling side to side, he grasped the handles on each door each with one hand behind his back. Tapping the back of his heel against the crack between the two doors, the lock twisted and popped on the inside, and the entrance swung open. One wicked grin later, and he was inside and wandering freely around the room.

"Hm-hm-hm…" he drummed his fingers along the top of the bureau, wandering along past it, "Little Miss Evangelina isn't in. And while the cat's away, the mouse will play."

He snickered quietly, marching around the perimeter of the room and sliding his hand along the cold wall. The room smelled of smoke and familiar fragrance, and half-melted candles were scattered about the room in small crystal dishes. Every bit of furniture was a dark oak wood, cushioned or otherwise decorated in a deep maroon. Having made a full revolution of the room, and passed around the end of the bed on the opposite wall, he found himself again at the bureau. Standing at complete attention in front of it, he grasped the back of the chair in both hands and stared into the mirror.

"I'm surprised I still _have_ a reflection," he muttered, smoothing his hair back with one hand, "With what I've become and the things I've done, I should have lost it long before now. Perhaps I _have_ lost it, in one manner or another."

He moved along side the chair and pulled one finger over the bristles of the brush teetering on the edge of the table. Short, shiny strands of hair twined around each raised spike, glowing golden in the sunlight pouring in from the open balcony doors. He knew that color very well, from the staring he did in the late afternoon when the sun shined right in the doorway, and he could see her standing on the balcony or sitting in her room. He tapped the top of a small jewelry case with the tip of one finger, then ran it overtop a small case of makeup no bigger than his hand. It was no surprise to him that she had so few cosmetics; she didn't need them. She was perfect, to him, as she was, and always would be just as such.

Redirecting his attention, he wandered with purposeful tipsiness toward the end of the bed. Trying to seem as nonchalant as possible, for whatever reason, he slid his hand over the horizontal railing at the foot of the bed, then around the side of the post, and around along the edge of the mattress. The entirety was covered in soft maroon, and had seemingly been made in a not-so-precise manner, as the right-side pillow still held a slight indent, and the top-most sheet was uneven. He traveled up the bedside, stopping as far as he could go when he came to a side table. Reaching down with one hand, the other in his pocket, he pressed down on the pillow and grinned viciously. Still warm, as it were, and he _greatly_ relished the fact that the other pillow had obviously laid untouched all night, and was in perfect form.

Glancing down at the table in front of him, and at the many candles on crystal stands of each a different height, he decided he could have at least a _little_ fun before he had to run away. He raised a hand, effortlessly it would seem, and every wick in the room burst to life with bright flames twisting with red, orange, and yellow. He smirked; the room looked most beautiful now, though far unworthy of housing such an astounding token of perfection. Through his hysterical smile, he managed to take note of a set of picture frames buried in the forest of candles on the table. One he merely frowned at; a landscape photo of five women, with _Evangelina_ in front and Medira vaguely hidden behind her. The next he growled fairly audibly at; a panoramic of too many people to count, with Medira buried somewhere in the side. The third he really took no issue in; a regular photo of Medira and her Rapidash, which in fact was more than tolerable for him. And the fourth one; let us all duck and cover. His eyes flared up red and yellow, and the burning candle flames doubled in size.

"I'll be right there, Jason. I just need to get something out of my room."

The tiny fires quickly halved in size, and he whipped around toward the door as it partially cracked open. …_Oh crap_. The door swung all the way open, and Medira waved one arm out the door as Jason could be heard whining from that end of the hallway for her to hurry up. She turned around and pushed the door shut with her heel, sighing before looking up and around the room.

"Whaaat…?" she looked side to side, her shoulders drooping, "How did all these candles get lit? And how the hell is the door open? Ohh, this is bizarre…"

She swept her hand around the room, seeming to suck the life right out of the candles. Then crossing the room, she stretched an arm out to either side and pulled the balcony doors shut, making sure they were tightly closed and flawlessly locked. She tugged on the handles a few times, serving to ensure yet again that they weren't going to come open on their own. One swift yank of the cord to her right and the curtains on either side of the door whipped shut. Resituating them, she then turned off to the bureau and pulled the chair out. Seating herself on the soft maroon cushion, she popped open the small jewelry box and brought out a long black cord with half of a Fire Stone hanging from it, slipping it over her head. She then reached back into the box and brought out a pair of earrings, each with a tiny chip of the same type of Evolution Stone hooked on them. Clipping one in her left ear, she tilted her head to the right, then tipped her head back the other way and put in the second. Glancing up into the mirror while clipping the back of the earring, she felt a wicked chill go flying up her spine.

There was one candle, in the group that was lined along the basket at the foot of the bed, that wasn't out. It flickered brightly; twisting and twirling and warping and glowing. That wasn't what had given her such a ferocious start though; it was what was beside that basket. He was standing there, staring at her, his face half in shadow where the curtains on the balcony doors were blocking the sunlight, and the other glowing in tandem with the bouncing of the yellow haze from the candle he was standing next to. He stood at loose attention, his shoulders ever-so-slightly hanging and his feet separated just enough to keep him balanced. His hands hung to his sides, and the black in which he was dressed blended him in with the darkness in the corner of the room while at the same time casting his own long shadow onto the ceiling with the light of the candle. He was straight-faced, his lips drawn just a bit tight, and his bright red eyes drilling into her, even through his reflection in the mirror.

She couldn't take that emotionless stare. To anyone but her, it would have seemed like he was merely looking into the mirror while thinking about something completely unrelated. But to her, it was plain to see he was watching her in that mirror, as well as focusing on her from behind. He was staring her down, and she was beginning to grow edgy, and she couldn't tell from what. She was by no means fearful of him; her sweating hands and shivering legs were brought on by something far different, she knew, and she wasn't entirely ashamed or afraid to admit that. His eyes suddenly narrowed slightly, his left eyebrow quirking upwards, and the right corner of his mouth twisted up in some kind of warped attempt at a smile. That was it; she cracked. She spun quickly around, grabbing onto the back of the chair with one hand and the right armrest with the other.

By the time she was turned around, there was no sign that anyone had been there in the first place, and the candle that had been lit was merely smoldering with thicker smoke than those she'd put out for herself only a few moments before.

* * *

Panting, and ever so slightly worn out from that mad-dash out of that room over there, Rubeus leaned on a tree just on the other side of the yard line, tucked around behind it and muttering. He readily admitted it was at least _fairly_ stupid to have gone standing around in her room after she was in there, but he wanted to see her and see her reaction. Overall, he was pleased with the way she'd responded to his presence. Not that he wouldn't have been even _more_ pleased if she'd stood up and actually talked to him, but hey, she didn't scream. Any step in that direction was a giant leap in the _right_ direction. 

He hesitantly poked his head around the trunk of the tree, darting back after seeing her out on the balcony and scanning the foliage beneath her. She was clearly looking for him, as her actions seemed frantic; panicked; worried. He debated with himself on whether or not it would be worthwhile to walk on out and show himself, knowing full-well that she was still watching. On one hand, if he went out there, she might actually talk to him, and give him the conversation and the answers he was so waiting for. On the other hand, however, if he went out there, he could also be ambushed by the other people in that house, which would not have been fun, to say the least.

Enough of the pleasantries, he finally decided. He wasn't going to go out there, exposing himself to mortal danger, for the sake of some _woman_. Even if it _was_ Medira. And even if she was looking for him. And even if those prying eyes of hers were calling to him. Maybe it was his own insanity, maybe it was really happening; he didn't know; but he felt like she could see him through that tree and was staring him down. There was a long, exasperated sigh from above, and a rattle and click as she turned and reentered the house, shutting and locking the door behind her and drawing the curtains.

He let out a long groan, slouching against the tree for support, "That was…Tensioning."

He was just beginning to mutter aloud about how prickly and uncomfortable tree bark was when he heard the front door swing open and was uncontrollably drawn to look. He turned full around and tilted slowly to his left side, peering around the tree at the porch. From the angle he was standing at, he couldn't make out who was coming down the steps until they were already on the ground. He almost laughed audibly, but choked it back with a forceful swallow; Medira was standing farthest from him, but he could clearly see her overtop the munchkin she walked beside. They turned toward him, and his eyes widened past the size of dinner plates and right into frying pan range. _Were they looking for him_?

He looked left, then right, then turned around and looked behind him. There was nowhere to go to avoid being seen. Nowhere…Except up, he noted, looking slowly above his head at the leafy arm extending from the tree. He turned around and grabbed onto the tree, hauling himself up to the lowest branch, and then from there up onto the next lowest. Locking his arms around the trunk and his knees around the branch, he sighed thankfully to note that they were passing him by. He tensed again when Medira stopped and turned in his general direction, scanning the woods as far inward as she could see. Jason must have called to her, as she turned and rushed off after him. Rubeus sputtered, only to cling tightly to the tree a few moments later when Flamedance and Sapphire went tearing by, their Masters on their backs.

"This does _not_ bode well for the rest of my day," he snorted, leaning his forehead on the tree, "BAH. For the rest of my _week_ for that matter," at the sudden crack from just below him, he cursed loudly the way tree branches were _never_ as strong as they appeared, as he crashed headlong to the ground below, "…Screw the _week_. The rest of my _life_. …Ohh…"

* * *

"Master, you're back!" 

"You look…Terrible!"

"What happened to you!"

"I _love_ what you've done with your hair."

Rubeus stood, silently and utterly still, in front of the four young women he wandered with, and allowed one eyebrow to just continue twitching, "_Don't_ ask," he ordered, smoothing his hair back into place as much as he possibly could to remove the many leaves sticking out of it.

"You…Look like you fell out of a tree," Flavia tilted her head to one side, "Is that what happened?"

He balled his fists, turning off to her, "_What_ did I just tell you!" he barked in her face, causing her to zip off behind Charlene, "I _know_ I said _don't ask_. I _know_ I did."

"Sorry," she squeaked, clinging to the back of Charlene's shirt, "It won't happen again."

"I should certainly hope not," he muttered while marching by and straightening his coat on his shoulders, "I don't want to have to pitch you into Hell, Flavia. You're far too sweet a girl for that."

Flavia was maybe…Half a second away from asking him something at least _reasonably_ stupid when Charlene's hand flattened over her mouth, "Master, where were you all that time?"

"Amusing myself," he answered plainly, brushing a stick from the shoulder of his coat and making himself comfortable on the ground beside the tallest tree around them.

"I thought that was _our_ job," Flavia murmured, blinking twice.

She'd gotten it out just before both Magna and Charlene succeeded in slapping their hands over her mouth, and the muscles in Peter's neck and jaw and forehead drew tight, "Not _that_ kind of a amusement, you wicked, wicked girl," Flavia shrugged and grew a long sweatdrop and the other two girls just glared at her with long groans, "Just…Leave me alone for a while, _please_."

While Magna and Charlene went on about scolding Flavia, each with their own indignant snorts about her upsetting "_her_" Master, Peter merely sat on the cold, damp ground, beside _his_ tree, and remained motionless in thought. Gypsy stood back to one side, shaking her head at those three idiots snapping at each other, then turned to look off at the back of Peter's seated form. It was amazing, really, how still he could sit; arms crossed, legs folded, shoulders held high, and stare unmoving. She narrowed one eye, pursing her lips in noiseless wonder as to what he could be thinking about. From narrow to wide her eyes went, as he suddenly crossed his arms tighter and slouched down.

"She has his _picture_," he was snorting into his own arms, having scrunched his chin into his chest, "She has that munchkin's _picture_. In her _room_. Beside her _bed_. With _candles_. That's where _I_ should be. Why am _I_ not there, _dammit_?" he tightened the twist in his crossed arms, "This is ridiculous; frazzling my nerves over something as utterly superficial as a woman and her attentions. Utter silliness, I say. Utter silliness, indeed."

"He's…Talking to himself," Flavia whispered over to Magna.

"What should we do?" Magna then whispered over to Charlene.

"I…Haven't the foggiest idea," Charlene murmured, shaking her head.

"You could try leaving him alone like he told you," Gypsy suggested, shifting all her weight to one leg, "Doing as you're told, for once, might help you later on."

They glared at her momentarily, only to dart their eyes back to their Master upon his letting out a loud snort, "Valentine's Day…" he muttered, his right eyebrow twitching, "How laughable. Going around all day and displaying affection for people and things. BAH. Give me the ancient view of the day anytime of the week. Though I _do_ certainly hope Medira doesn't fall for this…Frilly pink and red and white sap. BAH again. Why do I even care what a woman thinks?" he reached to the pocket in the left side of his coat, drawing out a small metal flask, "And why am I suddenly overcome with the urge to be with that woman on such a ludicrous little holiday?"

"Should we…Maybe…Stop him?" Flavia asked, prodding Charlene's side, "He sounds…Confused."

"I think it's _you_ that's confused," Gypsy snapped, shaking her head and grinding her teeth, "He asked to be left _alone_. What part of that do you not understand?"

"Stop talking to her like that, Gypsy," Charlene puffed, pursing her lips, "You're just jealous because he didn't ask you to come over and sit with him, and because he's thinking of that Medira woman."

"Why you scrawny little twit, how dare you speak to me that way!"

"I'll talk to some skinny little wench like you any way I please!"

"Hold it," Magna popped quickly up between them, just before fists started flying, with her arms X-ed in front of her, "Let's not anger our Master, hm? Now Charlene, don't start picking fights. And Gypsy, I don't think he intended us to let him have a complete conversation with himself."

Both women fumed at each other for a few seconds more, then snapped away and crossed their arms, noses stuck in the air, "_She_ started it," they announced in tandem with one another, each popping an eye open to shoot a filthy glare in the direction of the other.

Magna sighed, slouching her shoulders, "You two are never going to learn, or get along. If neither of you will go and see what's wrong, _I_ will."

"But…Magna…" Flavia whimpered, stretching a hand out behind her, "What if he…Ohh, never mind…"

Marching purposefully up behind her Master, who was still hunched down and grumbling to himself, Magna reached down and carefully tapped the back of his shoulder, "…Master…Rubeus…?"

He suddenly grew quiet, and there was a long pause as she could have sworn she _heard_ the vein in his forehead rapidly twitching, "_What_, Magna, do you want?"

"I came to see…If something was the matter. You've been talking to yourself over here for quite some time. I was just…"

"Magna, love, did I _call_ you over here?"

"…No, sir…"

"Then _why_ are you in my corner, bothering me?"

She blinked twice, shrinking back slightly, "But…But…You're not _in_ a corner. You're just sitting beside a tree. There's…No corner here to sit in…"

He looked slowly back over his shoulder, eyes narrow and lips tightly drawn, "_My point is_, Magna, you are invading my personal space, and _I don't like it_. Now go back over there with the other ladies and _park your ass_."

"Y-Yes, sir," she nodded, turning and scampering quickly back around behind Charlene without another word.

The three more obedient groupies did as they were told and sat down in a semicircle, and Gypsy just stood over them, grinning triumphantly, "BAH. Pathetic," Peter grumbled, having been watching over his shoulder, "Now, back to the matter at hand. What could _possibly_ make _me_, of _all_ people, want to spend any of that saccharin-sweet _quality time_ crap with _any_ woman at all?" he half-crossed his arms, taking a swill from the flask he'd since taken the cap off of, "It's not as if I _love_ her, or anything foolish like that…I _can't_ love her. That's utterly preposterous; my being capable of loving someone, let alone _her_. She's merely attractive, and thus desirable. Hm…" he cracked a psychotic grin, "And she is at that…Very beautiful. …Wait a minute. _Wait a minute_. That's it!" he shot to his feet, causing even Gypsy to swing quickly behind a tree, "That's the reasoning behind this sudden inner need to be with her. It's not because of that hokey bullshit holiday; it could be any day of the year and I would want her just as badly, because of her intense perfection. Yes, that's it…" he was sneering now, tapping one finger on the side of the flask in a quick rhythm, and all four women ogled him blankly, each from behind a separate tree, "_Yes_, that's the perfect idea…I will lure her away with me. Promise her something…Dinner, maybe. A softly lit dinner, in a random hotel room. It's private-like, darkly romantic, and then afterwards…Bed," he cracked the most hysterical grin and recapped the flask, sticking it in his pocket, "Ladies!" he whirled around on one foot, "Your Master is in need of your assistance!"

"Anything you say, Master!" three chirped, batting their eyes.

"Yeah, whatever…" the fourth agreed, though exceedingly monotone.

* * *

"Hey…I found a slip for a room at that new hotel down in the city…Ooh, and keys…" 

"You mean that really expensive one? Ooh…"

"Isn't it dangerous for him to be staying there?"

"The tag says it's one of the suites. He must be taking one of us."

"Ohh! It's a Valentine's Day present for one of us!"

"But I thought Master Rubeus didn't _like_ Valentine's Day…"

Gypsy rolled her eyes, backed _far_ away from those women. They had somehow or another managed to snatch Peter's wallet out of his pocket, and were sifting through it like a bunch of private detectives in search of meaningful clues. Besides money, his social security card, and a _long_ expired driver's license issued to a seventeen-year-old Peter in 1997, they found a small slip of yellow paper with black type and a shiny logo at the top. Upon unfolding it and reading it, they discovered that it was a sheet detailing reservations at the newest and most expensive hotel the city had to offer, with two keys hanging from the bottom. Again they began to bicker; this time over who it was that was going to be asked to share the room and dinner with him. Charlene was sure it was her; she was the most obedient and strongest, she said. Magna was confident it was her; she was the smartest and most trustworthy, she assured them. Flavia was convinced it was her; she reminded them that she was the cutest and the most fun. Gypsy just stayed out of the conversation completely; she was certain, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he would come back to get her and leave those three dunderheaded idiots behind. After an extended game of hot-potato with their "most appealing qualities", the three women finally decided that only their Master could choose, and that was that. It was then determined that whoever he picked would be allowed to mock the other two (well, the other _three_, since they were including Gypsy for who knows what reason) with stories of their night with "the Master", and have bragging rights for a week flat, no interjections.

Flavia chirped and twisted side to side, giggling crazily, "I'll be sure and give you three all the details! You'll never live it down!"

She tossed both arms above her head, apparently forgetting that she was clutching Peter's wallet in both hands, and dumped the entirety of it down into her lap, "Ohh…Good job, Flavia," Charlene groaned, "Look at the mess you made!"

"…Oops," she squeaked, peering down at the muddle of things resting in front of her, "…Ooh, look. Pictures!"

Magna reached out and caught the wallet as Flavia proceeded to nearly discard it to her side, "Flavia…" she ground her teeth, "Stop gawking at things and pick this stuff up before he comes back."

"Hm…" obviously oblivious as to what she was told to do, Flavia went on about sorting through the stack of wallet-sized photos that had poured out the side pocket of the wallet, "_Aww_! Look how cute Master Rubeus was when he was little!" she grinned, holding one out into Magna and Charlene's faces.

"Who's that with him?" Magna leaned down to look closer, "Maybe it's his sister. He has a sister, doesn't he?"

"Patricia died years ago," Charlene snorted, stacking up random credit cards, "Besides, she was the Master's _older_ sister. The girl in that picture is plainly younger."

Flavia flipped the picture over, "This says it was taken in 1984. Heehee…Master Rubeus was only four years old."

The photo was suddenly plucked from her hands from above her head, "Hmm…" Gypsy ogled it, holding her chin with her hand, "Looks to me like it's his cousin Whitney."

"Eww…" the other three muttered together, spitting out their tongues, "_Whitney_…"

Gypsy stepped back when a small string of shadow snatched the picture from her hand, "Thank you, ladies, for your most _marvelous_ opinions."

Gypsy glared over her shoulder, and Charlene, Magna and Flavia sprung to their feet, "Master!" they screeched, all hands held behind their backs.

Snapping his shadowed hand back to his side, he raised the picture to look it over, then leering up at them, "_Someone_ has been in my wallet."

Flavia's right arm shot out, in her hand Peter's wallet and the stack of photos, "We're sorry, Master. We were just curious."

"Mm, I'm sure…" he snorted, wrenching it quickly from her hand, "Now, if you'll be so kind…" he placed the back of the hand with his wallet against his hip, extending the other arm with his palm out flat, "Come-come now, ladies. I haven't the time to be playing games."

All three sighed as they put out their hands to each drop balls of wadded paper money and handfuls of shiny coins into his hand, "Pathetic…" Gypsy shook her head, tightly crossing her arms, "Taking money from my Master's wallet like common pickpockets…How little respect you show for him."

"Thank you, Miss Seditio. That'll be enough," he waved his hand at her, "Now, allow me to explain something to you. _All_ of you," he eyed Gypsy from head to toe, and she merely pursed her lips and stuck her nose in the air, "I'm going to be going out tonight, to do something of the utmost importance. I want each and every one of you to _stay out of my sight_."

"But…You mean…"

"You're not going to…"

"Take any of us with you…?"

"_No fair_!" Flavia, Magna and Charlene shrieked together.

Rubeus rocked his jaw, rubbing his forehead, "I don't have time for this…" he muttered, "Listen to me, and listen well. You can go out and do whatever it is you want tonight, as long as you _stay_ out of my _way_. I don't want to see you, hear you, or even sense you _anywhere_ around me. Have I made myself clear?"

"Yes, sir…"

"Yes, Master…"

"We'll stay away…"

"That includes you too, Gypsy, I hope you note."

"Whatever…"

"_Good_," he snorted, turning away from them, "Now I must be on my way."

"Wait!" Flavia rushed up behind him and grasped the back of his coat, hanging there as he scowled back at her, "What are we supposed to do while you're gone?"

"I don't _know_ and I don't _care_. Go out and…Make more minions for yourselves or something."

"More…Minions?" Charlene reiterated, her eyes and the eyes of her two closest companions growing wide, "Really? Can we really?"

"Sure, why not, if it means you stay out of my hair?" he puffed, rolling his eyes, "Mind your manners while I'm gone, my lovelies; it's not nice to drink the blood of men who don't want you badly enough."

"Yes, sir!" they squealed, locking hands with each other and hopping up and down, "Gypsy, come with us! We'll make ourselves new pets!"

"You've got to be _kidding_ me," Gypsy spat off to the side, "Go, feed to your hearts' content on the blood of your zombified, lusting suitors. Make your little man-puppets of them, and play with them all night like puppeteers. _I_ will stay here, and wait for my Master to return, so that I may be with him."

"You'll be waiting a long time," Rubeus flipped her a wave over his shoulder, melding into the darkness between the trees with a dark, wicked laugh, "I'll be off making my own fun, all night long, with the most delectable woman in the city. _You'll_ just have to wait your proper turn, Miss Seditio; second place."

While Magna, Charlene and Flavia ran off in the opposite direction, cackling wickedly at how Gypsy had just been put so flatly down, the redhead stood at full attention where she had been left. Tightly pursing her lips and grinding her teeth behind them, she allowed her eyes to slowly narrow in utter disgust. How dare he talk to her that way? How dare he call her second rank to _anyone_, and how dare he voice such a blatant lie to those three blithering idiots? She bared her teeth, fangs long and piercing, and the innocent tree behind her burst into a hailstorm of hot coals.

* * *

Thankful for the setting sun and the darkness it brought, Peter narrowed one eye around the side of the same poor tree he'd crippled the day before, standing with a foot at either side of the branch he'd managed to snap off. _He_ blamed the tree for the entire incident, but I'm sure the tree would have had other things to say. Enough about that blasted tree…He looked repeatedly between the open glass doors of Medira's room and the half-hidden sun as it fell behind the rooftops in the west end of the city. He could have sworn that thing was falling slowly on purpose. He shot it a filthy look, as if commanding it to fall, and debated on whether or not it was dark enough for him to make it across the yard without being seen. He didn't want to waste the entirety of the early evening waiting for that _stupid_ sun to set; he wanted to spend as much time building up his prestige as he could, and he wanted to spend more than a few minutes wining and dining before taking full advantage of the setting. 

While waiting for the sun to set, no matter how impatiently, he dug into the inside pocket of his coat with one hand to draw out a plain white envelope and a yellow slip of paper. The yellow tag was the same one he'd retrieved with his wallet from the gaggle of girls he'd left behind, and he examined it for approximately the sixteenth time in ten minutes. The logo for the Abenobashi Hotel was printed in slick black ink at the top, followed by an itemized bill, some little thank you note type of rant, and a set of two keys hanging from the bottom corners. He ripped one off and tucked it into the envelope, pinning it closed with a bit of pressure applied with his thumb to the lip to melt the glue. Why lick that putrid-tasting sealant when you can just burn it shut?

After tucking the envelope into the back pocket of his pants, he went on about looking at the yellow sheet again. The Abenobashi had finished construction not a month earlier, and was highly regarded as the best hotel within a hundred square miles. High quality and even higher priced, it was worth splurging on if it got him what he wanted. Besides…It wasn't like it was _his_ money that was paying for it anyway. He paused a moment more, and looked at the logo again. _Abenobashi_; where did he know that name?

Upon the realization that it had gotten significantly darker within the last few minutes, he turned and noted that the sun was set and that the sky had faded to a deep, deep blue. Slapping his own forehead at how long he'd stood there, doing nothing, he quickly fell to the ground as a swirl of shadow, whipping across the yard as a long, pitch black snake of darkness. Curling up the banister of the porch, he stretched from there to the windowsill around the side of the house, then up around one rung of the balcony above, and from there he continued up to the next-to-last floor, farthest room to the back. Squeezing between two bars of the guardrail, he peeked only his forehead and eyes from the blackness he became, peering side to side. The doors stood open, and the curtains were billowing in with the cool night breeze. He saw no one, heard no one, and sensed not a soul. _Hopefully_ he could get in and out this time without having to deal with his own selfish aspiration to hang around and say hello.

He scampered across the floor, with his upper half human, and sniggered to himself about how that little _munchkin_ that woman for some reason stayed with could _never_ compare to him. Jason could hardly hold a candle to the greatness of one such as he, and he could, for that matter, light that damn candle himself. He would ignite at least one flame tonight, and once he showed her even a single way he was better, there would be no going back for her. He could hook her without drugs, and intoxicate her without alcohol; he needn't inebriate her to attract her, and of this much he was certain. …Not that he wouldn't be opposed to a little drink now and again, mind you…

He poked his head up over the side of the bed, just to ensure that there was no one there. She obviously hadn't made the bed, and he liked that, for his own sick reasons. He disappeared into the floor, then sliding back into being while laying on his side on the bed, his head rested on the pillow beside Medira's. What a _nice_ angle this would be to see her from.

He cracked the right side of his mouth up in a twisted grin, "Suddenly, I find myself beginning to enjoy this Valentine's Day junk."

Brushing his coat out of the way, he retrieved the bleach white envelope from his back pocket and rested it neatly at a deliberate slant on her pillow. Tapping it to ensure that it was secure enough not to slip off and disappear, he took one final quick glance around the room, looking into every nook and cranny to ensure he wasn't being spied on from some dinky little corner. With that he was gone, wafting in the air as a puff of dark grey smoke, and a blast of hot air knocked Jason's photo off the side table. It landed discarded on the floor, facedown with a loud clatter.

* * *

"Excuse me." 

Lowering her newspaper from in front of her face, the clerk behind the tall marble counter looked up into the deep blue eyes of the man in front of her, "Can I help you?" she asked, tilting her head to one side with a wide and cheesy grin.

"I _do_ so hope you can," he held the left side of his coat open with that hand, reaching in with his right to draw out a slip of yellow paper, "I have this reservation, my dear. I was hoping you could tell me where to find the room. I don't feel like wandering the hallways on every floor to find it."

"Certainly. I'd be more than happy to," she grinned wider, holding out her hand to take the paper, "Let's see now…Your room is on the tenth floor. Take one of those elevators over there," she pointed off to the right, "Out of the elevators go left, and the room will be four doors down on your right-hand side."

"Thank you. Your help is most appreciated," after retrieving the paper, he turned and marched off in the direction of the elevators.

"Did anyone ever tell you…" the clerk voiced behind him, causing him to freeze in place, "You look remarkably like the actor Brad VanDarn?"

He cracked a wicked smirk, rolling his blue eyes back and snapping them forward to gaze down at the floor with blood-colored irises, "No, I can't say that they have. Thank you again, miss."

Standing in wait in front of the elevator, and repeatedly checking his watch, Rubeus took note that he would have time to spare if the _blasted_ lift ever got to him. He would have just enough time to fluff up the room before Medira arrived. And she _would_ come; of that there was no doubt. She wanted him as much as he wanted her, and she wouldn't deny that, he was sure.

Finally the elevator dinged and slid open. Nodding "politely" to the couple that came giggling off, and then to the suited businessman straightening his tie, and the sparkly-dressed woman that followed him, Rubeus stepped in and swung immediately around. Real difficult to tell what those last two had been doing, he smirked, rolling his eyes upon watching the suit and the woman quickly separate as the doors shut. Linking his fingers together in front of himself, he groaned at the droll music spewing from the speakers and watched the lights move along the line of numbers above the door. Seventh floor…Eighth floor…Come on, come on…Tenth floor at long last. He nodded again, this time to the uniformed staff member that rushed past him down the hallway, then stepped out and wandered off to the left.

"It's so wonderful to come somewhere so new that no one knows who you are," he smoothed his hair back with one hand, pulling a key from his pocket with the other, "It makes things _so_ much easier, and less hectic."

He was _just_ getting the key into the keyhole of the door to the room matching the number on the yellow slip when he was bumped away by the end of a silver cart, "Sorry," murmured the young man pushing it, "I've been waiting for you for an hour."

"Hm…" replied the victim of his inability to steer the cart, "_Why_?"

He pointed to the cart, "Your food. Did you forget about it?"

Rubeus blinked twice, "Actually…Yes," he proceeded in finishing the unlocking of the door, "Just bring it in and park it," with a gag and a half-snort he then added, "I'm…_Sorry_…For making you wait. I lost track of the time."

"That's all right. The longer I run around here, the more I get paid anyway," he shrugged, using both hands to wheel the cart up beside the round table at the opposite end of the room, "There. Nice and stable now…Anyway, my name is Manta, and I'll be tending to this room tonight. This is one of the most expensive rooms in the hotel, and you've got a lot of food and wine here. Are you waiting for a special lady tonight?"

"Tell me; what business is it of _yours_?" he was asked flatly as Rubeus tossed his coat over the back of the chair.

"Sorry," Manta winced, leaning away from the piercing red gaze that attached to him, "We were taught to try and strike up friendly conversations with our guests; it's supposed to raise customer understanding."

"…Right…Well, let me start by getting you to _understand_ that _this_ customer is _not_ a friendly person," he grasped the boy's shoulder, then patted it with the same hand.

"Noted…" he sweatdropped, coughing into his fist, "Is there anything else I can do for you before I move on then?"

"Hm…Is this _really_ the best bottle you've got here?" Rubeus murmured, chin in hand and ogling the boy from the corner of his eye.

Manta looked at the label of the wine bottle Rubeus was waving side to side in his other hand, "I…Think so, yes."

Rubeus shook his head, leaning into Manta's face, "Are you _sure_ about that? Because I have this itchy suspicion that a ritzy little place like this would have something a bit better," his hand whipped up between their noses, waving the smell of freshly printed cash under the teen's nose, "Think you might be able to look into that for me?"

Manta's eyes crossed to look down at the money, hanging in front of his face like a carrot in front of a horse, "I'm sure I can…Dig _something_ up."

"I thought as much," he smirked and shooed the boy off after stuffing the money into his hands, "On your way now. And make it quick. My guest will be here any minute."

Manta froze on the opposite side of the doorjamb, turning back to look inside, "Ahh…So it _is_ that you're waiting for a lady!"

Having followed him to the door, Rubeus merely swung it shut in his face. Waiting until he was _sure_ the little insect was gone, he stuck one hand back out the door and hooked a corny "_Do Not Disturb_" sign decorated with red and pink hearts on the handle, spinning it around as he pulled the door shut again. Directing his attention back into the room, upon turning around and straightening his collar around his neck, he noted that at some point or another Manta had managed to set the table. Either he was very quick, he thought, or very sly; he wasn't quite sure which. He banked, however, even more so on _sneaky_.

He approached the table slowly, so as to ensure that he wasn't incorrect, and that no Pokemon had been planted in his room as a spy. After glancing under the table, and moving his coat to the hanger on the wall, he clapped his hands together and proceeded with his work. He rearranged the place settings at the table to be in accordance with the proper order; this fork goes here, that fork goes there, that knife here and that spoon there. He moved the glasses, straightened the napkins, rotated the plates so that the designs were facing up, and lit the candles sitting in the center of the table with a wave of his hand in front of them. Everything was just about to standards now…

There was a loud banging on the door, "Hey, I brought back the bottle you wanted! It's chilled and everything! I'm not interrupting you, am I?"

Seizing the doorknob, Rubeus whipped it open and glared downwards at Manta, "What part of that sign do you _not grasp_ with that bulbous little head of yours?"

Manta blinked twice, then rammed a blue-tinted bottle up in Peter's face, "Would you rather I keep the tip _and_ the bottle then? I figured you'd at _least_ want me to give you what you sent me for."

After a long pause, through which Peter hardly budged an inch, he reached out and snatched the bottle away with one hand, "_You_…Little smart-ass," he snorted, narrowing both eyes, "Get going; and observe and _obey_ the sign next time."

"Right!" Manta waved back, "You've got it! I'll see you later!"

"God I hope not…"

After shutting the door behind him, Rubeus examined the bottle, narrowing one eye and raising the other brow. Yes, that bottle was _much_ better than that other one. He wondered for a few seconds why they'd kept it from him until he'd given that little irritation _incentive_ enough to look for it. Oh well; didn't matter. He pondered momentarily how it was he was expected to uncork the bottle without a corkscrew or something, then realized after arguing with it with his fingernails that there _was_ a corkscrew on the table. …Duh. He muttered about his own semi-blindness (or what others would call his own stupidity) and angrily yanked the cork from the throat of the bottle, discarding it and the corkscrew to the far edge of the table without so much as a second thought. He found himself mere nanoseconds later rushing around to find something to clean up the spill of foam with, growling inwardly with the thought that Manta had purposely shaken it to make him look bad when opening it. Grumbling, he scraped the bubbly mess from his shirt and shook it off his hands, then wiped it off the bottle. It eventually all wound up in the bathroom sink.

He was suddenly glad Medira hadn't arrived early.

After he'd finished taking care of _that_ little mishap, he stood at attention in front of the clock hanging on the wall, and proceeded to stare. And stare. And stare some more. It was truly amazing, he discovered, just how endless minutes could seem. Every time the second hand would pass the number twelve at the top of the clock, he would then look down at the minute hand to watch it click forward another space. After about five minutes of this, standing and staring, he found himself seated on the edge of the bed, still facing the clock, and ordering it subconsciously to _speed the hell up_! Another five minutes and he was flopped over on his back, eyes narrowed at the ceiling, and counting the ticks of the second hand and the tock of the minute hand as it switched over every sixty ticks. Antsy wasn't even beginning to describe him now; more twitchy and frustrated. Yet another five minutes later, he was beginning to doze off, his eyelids slipping lower and lower with each suddenly lulling tick. At the grand total of seventeen minutes, thirty-seven seconds, his eyes snapped open.

"What is this I hear in yon hallway?" he sniggered to himself, swinging himself up to sit, "Could it be? Oh yes, it may well be."

Cracking a wicked, wicked smirk, he tilted his ear off to the doorway, listening intently to the clicking heels on the marble flooring, and to the dinging of the elevator as it shut again. His fingertips began to drum at his sides, ruffling up the plush-like comforter on which he sat, and each end of his lips began to curl in over-pleased anticipation. A shadow approached from the left side of the door, and stopped right there in front. He lowered his head and chuckled downward, pushing himself to his feet and wandering to the end of the bed as the flames of the candles on the table behind him burst up twice as high. She had come just as he anticipated, and he was most sure it was her. He could sense her every movement, and could smell the smoke and feel the fire running through her veins, even through the door. How marvelous it was, to know she came to him.

There was some rustling, through her purse maybe, and the jangle of a single key on an Abenobashi keyring. Taking two steps closer to the door, he leaned on the wall beside the closet, awaiting her entrance with as much of an apathetic look as possible. He crossed his arms, and waited in silence as she stuck the key into the keyhole. The lock jiggled, but didn't open, and she removed it to try again. And then a third time. What was the problem there, he wondered.

"Hm…I must be at the wrong room…"

His heart flew up into his throat, and he felt as if he needed to reach up and push it back down, like he would a cat clawing at a wall, and then suddenly it stopped and sunk back down like a rock, "Wrong…Room…?" he twitched, his teeth clicking and the candles nearly blowing out the flames sunk so low.

With that, he'd flopped down onto his knees, his stomach sunk about that low and his jaw slapped down on the floor in front of him. It was her; he was undoubtedly sure that was her melodic, captivating voice. _What the hell did she mean wrong room_! There was a thud and clatter from her side, and the whirl of her shadow told him she had turned to look. At that he was down on his hands and knees, scampering over to the door with an uncountable number of questions and arguments washing around his head. Shutting one eye and laying his face down on the carpet, he peered out beneath the door, through the crack above the floor. His eye narrowed, then widened, then snapped into a spiral at the realization of who was out there.

"One night. _One night_ we're away and you bring your whole damn wardrobe with you."

"That has your stuff in it too, you know. Don't complain at _me_, Jason."

"Hush up and open the door before my fingers fall off. What are you doing over _there_ anyway? Our room is an odd number; it's on the left side."

"So sue me for being one number off."

Peter toppled over onto his back, groaning as he stared aimlessly at the ceiling. He stretched up, grasped the doorknob, and used it to haul himself up. Wobbling left to right on his feet, he leaned on the door and squinted out the peephole with one eye. His teeth bared and his fists balling tighter and tighter, he began to shiver violently upon having to watch that good-for-nothing munchkin of a man drag that bag in the door of the room _directly_ across the hall, then turn around and pull Medira in behind him. _He was touching her, that fiendish thing_! _How dare he lay his dirty fingers on such a precious object_! _OH, the nerve of some people_…

"I certainly hope I'm not bothering you with this…But no one we know knows we're here, so it should be nice."

"No, you're not bothering me. Not at all. I've never even been asked to go somewhere with someone like this before, so you should feel lucky."

What, WHAT, _WHAT_, **_WHAT_**! WHAT was that he'd just heard! He flattened his face against the door, gnarling deep in his chest about how she'd lied so blatantly. _He_ had asked her, dammit! _He did_! _Why_ was she not in _his_ room, with _him_! _Why_ was she over _there_ with that pathetic excuse for an Elite! What was the meaning of doing such a thing to him! …Wait…Was _that_ it…? Had she done such a thing on purpose? He backed up and leaned against the wall on the side of the door. Yes. She must have. Surely the numbers of the rooms hadn't been a coincidence. She had done this to him on purpose! She had done it to strip him of his pride and then rub his nose in the remains! Ohh…If he didn't know any better than to know that he didn't - _couldn't_ - love her, he would be tempted to say that he was heartbroken. He'd had his precious prestige and his beloved arrogance scraped from the bottom of her shoe and stuffed back in his face. Oh the misery, oh the disdain, oh the anguish, and oh the pain.

…He needed a drink.

* * *

Two plates of food and a bottle and a half of wine later, Peter found himself flopped face-first on the bed and somewhere between "tipsy" and "I only had a couple, Officer". Hey, at least his headache was gone…Along with the feeling in his right arm, and the twitchy-ness of his eyebrows, but what did that matter? He felt better besides, and he _liked_ it. He liked it _a lot_. Suddenly he understood his brother Paul's favorite phrase all the better; Who needs babes when you've got booze? 

His right arm hung off the bed, his fingers loosely clasping the neck of the half-full wine bottle. He tilted it side to side on the floor, murmuring meaningless little frivolities into the pillow about how cold and calculating the opposite sex could be. She had deserted him; more so even than a mutineer. And for _what_? And all for the sake of that ridiculously short little Elite besides. His chest wrenched just as much as his stomach twisted, though his stomach problems _could_ have been caused by the drowning of his sorrows and the stuffing of his face, combined with the fact that it was two o'clock in the morning and he hadn't slept all day and night. Or _was_ it two o'clock? He wasn't sure; he couldn't read the hands on the clock anymore.

He rolled over and brought the bottle up in his hand and raised it above his head, "A toast. To the lack of love and the pursuit of lust," he announced to the empty air around him, swishing the liquid around in a circle, "May they be the most omnipresent emotions in every lucky man's heart. Here-here."

He leaned his head up just enough to not waste any precious alcohol by dumping it on his shirt, filling his mouth with the satiating drink. He didn't bother swashing it; he just swallowed it and went back for more. If he had his way, he'd drink his way into a drunken stupor, and sleep it off until morning. After that, he'd deal with the hangover and take out his aggression on those idiots he was going to inevitably have to return to. He whimpered at the very thought, forcing himself to sit up with a loud and achy groan. Again he took a sip from the bottle, staring off at the candles over halfway burned as they sat in their stand on the table. He switched the bottle to his other hand, setting it on his thigh to lean back on his right hand. His legs stretched out in front of him and a long sigh escaping his chest, he continued staring at the dancing candle flames.

Oh what a fool he had been, to trust his evening in the hands of a woman that he knew, deep down, would never come to him. What woman would ever have the audacity to stay by the side of someone such as he? Those few he traveled with were looking for nothing more than someone to cling to and leech off of, and would abandon him the first chance they got, he had no doubt. But what _real_ woman would want to spend her time with someone like him, who cared only for himself and no one else, and would take what he wanted without so much as half a second glance? Why would _she_, of _all_ people, sacrifice everything she had in her life to spend even a single night by his side? Simple; she wouldn't. She had everything she could want; a stable life, a man to love her, and a companion behind every corner. What woman _wouldn't_ want that, and would throw it all away for a fugitive waiting and planning and stewing away to kill one of her best friends?

Why was he even worried about this anyway? Such a silly little situation! He had money, women, booze; everything he wanted. He even had the fame and infamy he'd longed so hard for. He could steal himself more liquor to drink away his woes! He could _buy_ himself another bride if he so needed to! What reason did he have for wanting something so asinine as to have that woman to call his own? He grinned to himself, proud of having finally figured that out, and took another guzzle from the bottle in his lap. After a fairly short silence, his grin faded into a long frown; he'd not yet convinced himself. She was too…Too different, too perfect. She wasn't like those other women, and _certainly_ not like those four blithering bozos he hand to deal with day in and day out. She was poised and she was determined; she was beautiful and she was endearing; she was glamorous and she was sleek. And it didn't matter anyway; she'd taken more than ample care to ensure he knew she was blowing him off. Ah…Why was his life so complicated?

He took another quick sip from the bottle, ogling off to his right side as the clock bonged for three o'clock. Ohh, so _that's_ what time it was. He sighed, downed the last few drops from the bottle, and decided it'd be best to try and sleep. The empty wine bottle was discarded on its side to the table, and he squelched one candle with the palm of each hand. The room suddenly fell to darkness and utter, utter silence. He settled himself in bed, on his back and arms folded behind his head on the pillow, and focused on the ceiling. After long, lingering minutes of this, he rolled onto his left side, folding his left arm under his ear. From there he flipped full onto his other side, doing the same with the opposite arm. He wound up some ten minutes later flat on his stomach and pounding the pillow with his fists. Next he was on his back, hanging his legs and head over either side of the bed, and then over on his stomach to do the same, while drawing spirals on the carpet with his index fingers. Half an hour or so later, after rolling around the bed in a complete circle, he was sitting in the chair by the window, his right leg folded over his left knee and his chin leaning on the knuckles of his left fist. He then proceeded in opening the window and draping himself across the arms of the chair, leaning back into the cool breeze wafting in from the outside, and randomly twining his fingers into the billowing chiffon curtains. Another few minutes of this and he was back on the bed, flat down on his stomach with his chin up on the footboard and the pillow drawn over the back of his head. He eventually managed to doze off like that, the vivid, full moon glaring in the window on his back.

* * *

Bang-bang-bang.

His eyes snapping open, Rubeus took not a second to lose in sitting up. _Dong_, _thud_, _ow_. His rush to get up served to slam his forehead into the underside of the bar at the foot of the bed, only to bounce back down into the strip of wood along the bottom of the mattress. He yelped, pressing the heel of his hand to his head, and slid _sideways_ to avoid doing that again. He groaned irritably at the bright light pouring in the window from the sun, and shoved the window back down to tightly shut the curtains and blinds. Stumbling around the table and down the short hallway to the door, he kept his hand pressed to his forehead not only because of the stabbing pain from that sudden blow, but also from the _pounding_ migraine that ripped through his entire skull. Thankfully, he could easily take care of that, as soon as he took care of whoever was at the _damn_ door.

Bang-bang-bang again.

"Yeah, yeah…I'm coming. Quit the hammering already; you're killing my head."

He caught a glimpse of himself in the mirror, sighing again; this time at how terrible he looked. Bloodshot eyes, rings under his eyelids, a slight twitch to his temples where that headache was _throbbing_ worst of all, and his clothes wrinkled and displaced from being slept in. He rolled his eyes, rubbed them, then reached out and unlocked the door, tugging it open. A long silence passed between the guest and his intruder.

"I still would really like to know," Rubeus started, leaning one arm on the edge of the door and squinting out into the light of the hallway, "What the _hell_ you don't understand about that sign."

Manta grinned stupidly, "A little drunk, are we?"

"Kid…Look, what do you want?"

"Touchy-touchy," Manta waved his hand, shoving in past him, "I came to pick up your dishes. I heard from the front desk that the second person this room was assigned for never came. …Who ate all this food?"

"I did. What's it to you?"

Manta shrugged, "Just asking. You look…Really bad. Do you want anything from the kitchen?"

"Coffee. Black. Hot as you can get it," he murmured, rubbing the arch of his nose, "Get the dishes and scram, kid. I'm not in the mood."

"It'll be a little while before I can get your coffee, since I have four more rooms to clear out, and I can only stack plates so fast. Did you drink all the wine yourself too? Is that why you look so shitty?"

Rubeus shot him a dirty look, "_Yes_, and I'm not a very nice drunk, so get back to work."

"I am, I am…So, the front desk said you told them when you made the reservation that there was going to be a woman coming to meet you. They said she never came. Is that true?"

"For about the millionth time; what the hell business of yours is it?"

"Ah come on; I'm bored. Talk to me. Tell me what happened. Now come on; she didn't come or what?"

He gritted his teeth together, finally opting to hope talking to him would _shut him up_, "No, she never came."

"So ya' wallowed in food and wine all night to make it go away? Heh…Reminds me of my father."

"That's nice…"

"See, you should have been like this guy across the hall here. _That guy_ had class."

Peter suddenly shot up straight, narrowing one eye off toward the boy balancing plates on one hand while picking up more with the other, "What about him?"

"He made the reservations for that room like…Last month sometime, right after we opened. He had the whole thing set up yesterday, and he brought his girlfriend in with him last night. Everyone keeps saying that they're a couple of the Elite, but I dunno. _Her_, maybe, but _him_…He's too short to be an Elite, I think. He's shorter than _me_! …Anyway, they sat down at the table in their room last night and had a private dinner and everything. They ordered off one of the most expensive parts of our menu. It was pricey."

"And how do _you_ know?"

"Last night I was assigned to this room, their room, and all the other rooms down to the elevator. I took their orders."

"What all did you see?"

Manta directed a skeptical gaze off toward the guest he was tending to, tilting his head, "What business is it of-"

"I never said do as I do; I said do as I say. But perhaps I can give you a bit of inspiration, yes…"

At the two-toned green flag waved in front of his face, Manta suddenly become a font of information, "It's not like I stuck around to _watch_ them or anything, but they shooed me off right after dessert. From what everyone was saying, they were up until like…Four o'clock last night. Doing _what_ I'm not too sure I want to know for certain, seeing as how I _am_ but an innocent little boy. Heheh…"

He knew when they'd finally turned in; he'd _heard_ them all night while he was trying to sleep, in there giggling and twittering and laughing, "Quite…Anything else you saw or heard interesting?"

"I was just over there a few minutes ago, picking up plates and things. He just left to get breakfast somewhere out at the other end of the city…He said something about a bakery close to where the Elite live that had really good food."

"And her?"

"I don't know for sure. She's still there as far as I know. She was digging through their overnight bag, and she asked me to hang their "_Do Not Disturb_" sign up for her."

He suddenly perked up to the point that he ignored his headache, "How long has he been gone for?"

"I dunno…Ten, fifteen minutes at best. He wasn't in any hurry either. He even waited for the elevator to come all the way up from the basement, even after I suggested he just take the stairs. He just told me he wasn't rushing, and was going to get enough exercise walking off all that rich food he had last night, all the way to the bakery and back. It was right after that that I dropped their dishes off downstairs and came here to get yours."

Peter turned back to the corner, growing significantly cat-mouthed, "Thank you, my boy. You've earned yourself a nice big tip."

Manta rushed over from the other end of the room, holding both wine bottles under one arm and balancing the stack of plates and glasses on that same hand, and snatched the folded green from Peter's hand with the other, "Thanks! I'm getting more from you in twenty-four hours than I earn in three days from my paycheck. Oh, and that reminds me," he tucked the money into his back pocket, "What did you think of my uncle's wine?"

"…Your uncle's _what_?"

"That second bottle of wine I brought you. I got it out of my uncle's wine closet on the top floor," he sweatdropped, "I guess I didn't introduce myself properly. I'm Manta Abenobashi. My uncle owns this hotel, and the other Abenobashi."

"Ahh, _that's_ how I know the name of the hotel; it shares its name with the owner. Hm…" he stuck out his hand, rattling Manta's up and down forcefully, "A pleasure doing business with you, Abenobashi. Give your uncle my best regards."

"Yes, sir!" Manta saluted, rushing out the door as Rubeus held it open for him, "Later!"

"Oh joy…" he murmured in reply, shutting the door behind him, "So…The munchkin made the plans for this room somewhere around a month ago, and right now the Elite-ranked disgrace is out and left his charge unattended. How _sad_ that he shall have to lose it."

Only after retrieving his coat from the back of the chair did Rubeus feel he was ready to head on his way. Whipping it up around his back and resituating it on his shoulders, he proceeded back to the door while tugging on a pair of black gloves pulled from his right-side inside pocket. So the room numbers _had_ been a coincidence, and she _hadn't_ done such a thing on purpose. Surely the munchkin hadn't told Medira of this _that_ far in advance. No…It was clear by the way she'd been talking the night before that she'd known nothing about it. Perhaps then his envelope had gotten lost, or maybe even was taken. He snorted at such a thought and paused right at the door. Clenching his fists, he began to warm his blood, and then to literally boil it in his veins, tensing every muscle. After a short while of this, he loosened slowly, smoothing his hair back with one hand and grinning wickedly. Ah, the perks of being able to burn off the alcohol from your blood.

He paused a moment as Manta went scampering past the other side of the door, balancing a mountain of plates and cups in his hands. When he was sure the boy was gone, he slowly opened the door and peered out. The hallway was silent, save the humming of music a few doors down. Approaching the door opposite him, he quietly took the doorknob in one hand and attempted to turn it. Locked, as he'd suspected. Now, to just apply the proper amount of leverage to the proper place and twist the handle…_Pop_ goes the lock. The door swung an inch or so ajar, but _dammit_, the other lock was on. He raised one hand, removed his glove, and turned his arm to darkness using his own shadow to block the light from the hallway behind him. Snaking his arm around the door, he slid the lock off and hung the chain _quietly_ down along the door. Retracting his hand and replacing his glove, he smiled wickedly.

"For the best hotel in town," he sniggered, "Its security is surprisingly lacking."

He sidestepped in the door, eyes darting side to side, and slowly shut the door behind him as silently as possible. Opting to peek quickly back out to ensure Manta really _had_ hung that sign as he'd been told, he then locked both the handle and the sliding latch and leaned backwards against the door. Marching down the hall, holding his wrist behind his back, he examined the room with prudent gaze to ensure nothing was around to watch him. The layout of the room wasn't too much different than his own; only perhaps a touch larger, with the furniture differently arranged.

He found himself at the foot of the bed, the sheets in disarray and the pillows misarranged, and allowed his upper lip to twitch at the very sight. He glanced partially back, and lowered his hand to the muddle of dark purple cloth dangling on the corner of the mattress behind him. A wicked snicker escaped him, and he twined his fingers through part of his newfound treasure. Her shirt was soft, still slightly warm, and clung partially to the fabric of his glove. It would have been more attractive still if she'd been wearing it for him to touch, and for that matter, for him to remove. He pondered on the silk-like fabric for a few more seconds, then slid his fingers up around the collar and down along the bottom edge of the mattress. Reaching the end of the bed, he turned and passed the round table in the corner near the window. He paused to look outside for just a moment, and narrowed both eyes at the intense brightness radiating in from the beams of the sun. It had to have been sometime between late morning and early afternoon for that shining yellow sphere to be at such the perfect angle to glare in the window at him. He swore the sun hated him, and would do everything in its power to stop him. BAH…

He turned around and looked at his shadow, stretching long and thin into the middle of the room, over the bed and partially onto the floor on the other side. After briefly staring, he looked off toward the top of the long dresser, where the sun was reflecting on a red and orange stone and attracting his attention. As he approached it from the opposite end of the dresser, he counted numerous things on his way that belonged to someone _other_ than Medira, and he took the _liberty_ to discard all of these things to the floor. A bandanna, a green reservation slip for the room, a keyring with an _ancient_ family photo in the plastic frame, and a single gold loop earring; all were exiled unceremoniously with the flick of a finger to the carpet, so that he could trample on them as he walked. Stopping at the next corner, he slid his fingertip through the end of the long black cord stung through the stone, raising it to dangle from his hand. A necklace, as it were; the Fire Stone necklace she always wore, and it glistened brightly in the sunlight, pointing a bright yellow glow onto the floor on the other side. His eyes slowly traced the light, right straight up to the top of his own shadow. From there, his gaze focused on the door that stood slightly ajar, a dim light showing from inside. He set the necklace carefully down and started over.

Closet? No…It had to be - yes, it was. He stopped along side the doorway, pulling one glove off with his teeth. Reaching his arm out into the light, he raised one eyebrow upon watching his skin begin to smoke. Steam, he noted, was reacting to his boiling blood. He could feel the vapor in the air; each tiny speck that reached his skin causing a stinging pain that, in a way, felt good. He snickered, drying his hand on his coat while yanking his other glove off from the middle finger first, again with his teeth. Tucking both gloves into the inside pocket of his coat, he slid his hand along the outside of the door and pushed it open. Just as he'd suspected.

He grew a lecherous smirk, "Good morning, my dear."

The figure blurred by the wavy glass doors froze immediately in place, hands half-smoothing her hair and head tilted back to run her face under the water shooting from the showerhead. She didn't stay that way for long, but didn't turn to acknowledge him either; she merely went back to rinsing the soap from her head and her shoulders. His grin grew wider still.

"Ignoring me, are you? Well…I don't plan on leaving anytime soon."

She just kept on about what she was doing, squeezing conditioner into her hand and then scratching it into her hair. Overall, he was amused by what he was watching, leaning on the doorframe in his typical uncaring, casual, fashionable manner. His one gripe was that it wasn't simply a transparent shower door. Damn those waves in the glass that blurred her form…

"I see…You're going to just make like I'm not here. I'm sorry to break it to you, but I am, and I'm _more_ than content with watching. At least for the time being."

She continued to scrub and rinse her hair in silence, utterly ignoring the fact that he was even there. He just snickered and kept his eyes locked on her, in his mind sharpening the picture to try and imagine how she actually looked. His imagination could never do her justice, he presumed. But he'd have fun trying just the same. He glanced away for a moment, then looked back with an even wider smile.

"Or…Is that in fact what you're trying to achieve?"

There was a loud _thump_ as her fist connected with the faucet handle, smacking it back into the wall and turning off the water. The left side of the shower door slid open with one quick tug, but only enough that one of her arms would fit between it and the wall. She grasped the towel hanging on the bar, and he merely laid his arm down along it, pursing his lips to note that she was coyly glaring at him from around the door. Contorting to reach out with her other arm as well, she yanked the towel mercilessly away, slamming the shower door shut after pulling it inside with her. She wrapped it around herself both times that it would fit, then tucked the corner in at her chest. With deliberate pause, she tediously checked to make sure everything was picked up, and only then did she slide the door open.

There came a long, excruciating pause as she placed one foot on the marble tile floor outside the tub, then the other right beside it. His stare was almost painful; deadly in some regards as he never once let her eyes escape his. Fists slowly formed at her sides from her curling fingers, and her shoulders, which she had been holding high, slowly drooped as she lowered her head. Thin trails of water followed the droplets that rolled down her neck and around her shoulders, onto her back or her chest to disappear under and into the towel, and he somehow seemed to be watching every one of them with intense interest. His eyes snapped back to hers when she raised her head.

"What are you doing here?"

A blunt inquiry, and a somewhat obvious one, he supposed, "That in and of itself is a stupid question, and coming from you it's just plain naïve."

"It's not wise for you to be gallivanting around in a place like this. Someone could see you."

"On the contrary; quite a few people _did_ see me. But that's the advantage of staying in a place as new as this; no one knows who I am just yet. Sad though that is," he caught a droplet of water in mid-descent over her collarbone with the tip of his finger, tracing its path back up behind her ear, "But is that perhaps a hint of worry for me I hear in your voice?"

Her spine shot into perfect align as his hand wrapped around the back of her neck, "Why do you ask? Is there a reason I should be worried about you? You told me once that I never had to worry about you, because you were more than capable of taking care of yourself."

He let out one quick, short laugh, jolting her a single step closer, "You're far too smart for your own good. I like that quite a lot," he bent down to her eyes, his expression falling flat, "I've been waiting for you. The things I can imagine, I'm sure could never compare."

_Those damn eyes of his…_Staring into hers and twisting her arm, "You know I don't belong to you."

"I specialize in taking things that aren't mine to begin with. That's the fun of being evil."

"You plan to steal me because you _can_?"

"I plan to steal you because I want to. I plan to steal you because I want _you_ and you alone," he tugged on the back of her hair, tilting her head back, "And it's not stealing if the prize walks willingly away with you."

She whimpered, nearly wincing, at the hand playing across the base of her throat and down along her collarbone, and at the finger that slipped just beneath the hem of the towel around her chest, "I've missed you. Maybe a lot more than I'd care to admit," she let out hesitantly.

"Though I'm sure not more than I'd care to know."

One swift tug and she was pressed against him, chin to thighs. She clung to his coat, inevitably lacking the option, and also the inclination, to get away. She liked this, being so close to him. She liked it more than she would ever admit to anyone, possibly even to herself. Still…Could she bring herself to something like this? What about Jason, and everyone else so important to her? Could she really throw all of that away, never look back at it, for the sake of this terrible, horrible, awful man? One arm tightened around her waist, and the other around her shoulders, and that question was answered fairly easily by the short squeak that escaped her.

"I dream of you and your perfection," he tightened his arms more still, clamping her to him, "There's not a day that goes by that you're not on my mind. Tell me; is your precious Peruwa like that? Does he think of you that way?"

"I…I don't know. I've never…Never had the inclination to ask."

"He shouldn't need to be asked. He should show you," he leaned down close to her face, tilting her head back with the hand removed from her shoulders, "If I had half the chance, I would show you every second of every day how flawless you are to me. I would show you now, if time permitted."

Her eyes wavered, but never once fell from his, and her bottom lip quivered, "Why did you come here?" she lowered her head and pushed off him as far as she was able, "I know what you're doing here, but _why_ here? Why me? Why do this?"

He dragged her back, holding her up when her knees gave way and she grasped his shirt, "I came for you. I came because it's _you_ I want."

"You have your brides."

He flinched and shuddered violently, merely from the thought of her _knowing_ about them, "Baggage," he replied, "And _useless_ baggage at that."

"You speak of women as items; as things. You always have. I'm not your toy."

"No, you're not. You're far from it," he loosened his grip as she regained her footing, shrinking to bury his face in her neck, and the wet tips of her hair steamed against his skin, "I could never think of you in such a manner. I don't long to share my life with a toy. I don't lay awake at night thinking of a toy to lay beside me. And when I do sleep, I don't dream of a toy that would never leave my side."

She shut her eyes and eased against the support of his arms folded around her back, squeezing and loosening with each intentionally-placed kiss he scattered on her neck, "Do I really mean so much to you?"

"More than you know."

"But you don't love me."

He froze, his lips pressed against the side of her throat, and stood to slide his hands down to her hips. He stared at her, his expression flat and obviously confused. He had distanced himself slightly from her, and his brows tightened at the plainly seeking look she directed into his eyes. She wasn't so much telling or reminding him as she was trying to pop the truth out of its box. She looked so…Depressed. It made him ache; why?

"You _can't_ love, remember. It's against your code; your own personal religion."

He slid his hands up her sides, around her back and up her neck to push her chin up with his thumbs, "And since when do _I_ give a damn about religion?"

There was no candid pause for his words to take effect and snap into align in her mind; he merely leaned down and locked his lips with hers. The contact was so intensely warm that she felt as if to melt, and the fact that he tasted like wine only did more for it. She pried her arms from his crushing embrace, slowly twining them around his neck and growing far less cautious about her own assault. He dropped one arm to her back, using the opposite hand to tug her bottom lip down enough to taste deeper. He found it _painfully_ entertaining that she didn't once falter. He picked her partially up, actually lifting her feet from the floor with just one arm, the other grasping her hair and soliciting a groan from her throat. From there his hand moved to her back, and he pulled her with him as he backed through the door, into the gradually dimming room as the sun rose up above the building.

Walking more tipsily than he had been when he was drunk, he dragged her along until his legs caught against the edge of the bed, and he found himself planted firmly on the floor, his back against the mattress. She was sitting on her knees, directly between his, and sat for a few seconds before snickering. He sighed, fully realizing how _stupid_ that had to have looked, and smoothed his hair back with one hand. She slapped her hands down on the floor between his thighs, which obviously drew his attention away from _primping_, and leaned partially forward. Her towel had come untucked, and one end hung loose at her side, and he was tempted to snatch it up and play the gentleman to tuck it in again. She either didn't notice or didn't care, as she sat the rest of the way forward and clashed her lips with his again.

He sat there, his hands on the floor, and stared at her. Her stare was plainly wicked, still lip-locked with him as she slapped both hands to his shoulders and pushed him down. He slid down under her, and she sat up over him to swipe her hair back from her eyes. This was…New. He wasn't used to being the one on the floor, and it surprised him how much he enjoyed such a thing. She pushed her hands up under the shoulders of his coat, pushing it down to his elbows through vague squirming to get him to stop laying on it. After shaking it off the rest of the way, he started to again sit up, only to have her plant her hands back on his shoulders and push him back. He started to smirk, then grinned, then grew a broad, crazy smile, and drew his hands along the sides of her thighs, up under the towel and up to her hips. She stretched out over him with quite the interesting purr, tugging his shirt from his belt and jamming her arms up beneath it along his sides. She was working toward his chest and he to the base of her back when the most _wretched_ noise _imaginable_ echoed through the room. A combination of a dozen buzzers and horns and flashing lights sent her flying down against him, eyes gone wide. Suddenly, his headache was back and about twenty times worse.

"What the _hell_ is that?" she looked quickly side to side around the room, "Alarms?"

"Fire alarms," he muttered, watching the flashing white light on the small red box on the wall.

"Was it you?"

"If it was me, it would have started right here, from all this…Wonderful attention."

"…True," she sat up, still kneeling between his legs, and looked down at him, "We're supposed to evacuate."

"Screw it," he snorted, stroking his fingers up the front of her thighs, "It's just fire, after all. I vote we just stay here…Play a little game, maybe…"

She toppled down, a hand at either side of his head, and shivered as his thumbs skimmed along the insides of her legs, growing dangerously too close for comfort, "Stop kidding around. We have to go."

"Who says I'm kidding?" he grinned, hooking one finger into the top of the towel, pulling it down toward him.

"…You're serious," she shook her head, sitting back up as he returned his hands to her waist, "And insane."

"Maybe just a little," he shrugged, drumming his fingers on her back.

She flopped back to a seat on the floor as he sunk into the carpet and reformed behind her on one knee, draping his arms around her shoulders with a kiss to the back of her shoulder, "Are you leaving me?"

"Hm…" he smiled, bearing his fangs openly, "Get dressed, and we'll just see."

She stared at him, then did as she was told and carried herself to her feet. She snatched her shirt and the things under it from the bed, waiting until he bent down to pick up his coat from the floor before she started actually putting her clothes on. As he swung it around his shoulders she was pulling on her skirt, and as he turned back to her she was slipping her shirt on and starting to button it. He tugged on his gloves as she zipped up the sides of her boots, and she was grabbing and putting on her necklace and earrings as he was taking the great pleasure of _shutting up that damn alarm_! He glared over and up at the red box now dangling from the wall, and took the liberty of spitting on it when it fell to the floor with a loud clatter. Damnedable, contemptible, pain in the ass, piece of shit mother fu-

"Peter?"

His attention quickly snapped back to her before he had the chance to think up more hateful remarks to scream at that stupid contraption, "…Oh, you're ready. …What is _that_?"

She looked down at the muddle of keys in her hand, "It's…Jason's," she murmured, "He'd know something was up if I left it behind when we evacuated."

"Hm…"

"It's the truth," she reiterated, "Really."

"Sure it is."

She shrugged, "Whatever. Don't believe me. Let's get out of here before someone pops up and hauls you away," she stepped around him, marching toward the door.

He snatched her wrist with one hand, snapping her back up against him, "No one could _haul_ me anywhere. Regardless," he cracked a smile, "If the little firemen in their little red truck are out there, waiting to put out whatever it is that's burning, they're going to know who I am. We have a very…Personal relationship, those men and I. They would have no reservations about calling your precious Evangelina on me, and, in turn, on you."

She stared up at him, then slouching and looking away, "I understand."

"I have no problem with them sicking her on me; I can handle her quite easily. But I'll not have you dragged in as my accomplice," as she started to look up again, he placed a hand on the back of her head and held her tightly to him, "So as you can tell that going out the front door isn't the wisest of ideas, we'll get out another way."

He abruptly grew silent, and unerringly tense. Leaning her forehead against his chest, eyes tightly shut, she felt as if she'd gone completely numb, and couldn't even feel the coolness of the air around her. When finally gaining the courage to open one eye, she noted that everything looked…Dark. It all looked to be in shadow. She looked up at Rubeus slowly, noting his flat expression and lack awareness. Something whipped past the back of her head, and she clung tighter to him, only to have him look down at her slowly. She peeked out again, and watched what appeared to be a black bat shoot past, followed by - What was that? - A gargoyle…? All around them, more and more, the demons ran from them. They were…Climbing on the walls of the hallway. Come to think of it…_When_ had they gone into the hallway?

"W…W…What…What the hell is this?" she choked out, squeezing him as tightly as she could.

"You are seeing, my dear, the demons that walk the Earth and prey on the darkest emotions and the most horrifying nightmares of humans," he pulled the back of her head, leaning her face on his chest, "Don't look at them. Staring at them will draw their attention to you."

"I've never seen these things before. Where are we? Where are you taking me?" she drummed her fists on his chest, "I don't want to be here!"

"You're nowhere dangerous. You see them because of the form you've taken. Surely you remember doing this once before. When I first met you, face to face, and brought you away with me."

"Your shadow form then…?" she tilted her head against him, "Then you see them because you're one of them like this…You're a demon!"

"Close," he grinned wickedly, sliding them both down beneath the sliding doors of the elevator shaft, "I am the Devil. That is why they fear me, and why they run from me."

She wondered, honestly, if he was being sarcastic, truthful, or just plain crazy. Surely he couldn't be serious…Could he? Her eyes darted side to side as long arms of shadow shot out from their sides and clung to the walls of the elevator shaft, shifting and moving to carry them downwards. He was falling backwards, and she was basically lying on top of him as they dropped, though she couldn't see around him. She watched the doors for each floor pass them, and he suddenly grasped her tighter at the loud rumbling from below. Halfway between the second and third floors, he proceeded to pull them through the elevator as it stalled in the passage. They were straddled a good bit, from the separation of the limbs carrying them and their actual forms, and then regrouped beneath the car to keep descending.

Reaching the basement level, the shadow clouded around the bottom of the shaft, then coiled out into the hallway, toward the door at the other end. As he concentrated on removing them from the building, she turned her head to look off to the side at the dark glow emanating from one of the rooms to the right. They whipped past so fast that all she was able to see was a swarm of creepy-crawly imps, crowded around a single person, surrounded by orange flames. The darkness around her was so deep that it actually caused the fire burning at her feet to appear dim. She stood there, staring down at the flames, and only glanced toward the door as they passed. She gave a wicked grin to the sight of them and crossed her arms.

"All the trouble I'm going through, and you _still_ managed to find the means to be with her. You dirty, dirty man," reaching down into the front of her double-strapped top, drawing out a pristine white envelope with a small burn mark on the back, "The Master is _mine_. I will show her that someday, and crush her into the dust."

She enveloped the white paper in her hand in more orange flames, dropping it at her feet into the inferno raging around her legs. She let out a shrill cackle, turning to dark grey smoke and wafting away.

* * *

Curling up around itself, the shadow engulfing both Medira and Rubeus brought them both into full form in the shade of a tree behind the Abenobashi. Blinking twice, she slowly pushed away from him as he lowered his arms to his sides, then stood back to look him over. He reached up and smoothed his hair back with one hand, tugging off the glove of the opposite hand with his front teeth. She stared at him, with a bit of a blank look, and focused mostly on the bright white teeth that he showed. His canines were so…Sharp. She swallowed and ran her hand around the side of her neck, feeling for any blood or puncture marks. 

"That was…Entertaining," he grunted, glaring off in the direction of the hotel, "Though it would have been more entertaining still if those damnedable alarms hadn't gone off."

She nodded slowly, "Listen, Peter. I really have to explain to you-"

"Don't," he raised a hand in front of her face, silencing her mid-sentence, "Just…Don't."

"But what about-"

"Don't even say what you're thinking. I have to be leaving anyway. I've wasted my time coming here."

"Wasted your time…?" she slouched, frowning low, "Why was it a waste?"

"I came here with one intention, and the opportunity to achieve my goal is now passed."

She grew suddenly agitated, "You…Vile beast. You're telling me that coming here to _bed_ me was your only intention?" he appeared unmoved by the accusation, and she ground her teeth together, "You…Liar!"

OK…Now _that_ was too much, "You can go so far as to call me a beast, a demon, a bastard…But calling me a _liar_ is gone to too far an extreme."

"You have no problem being called what I know you're really not, and yet you're pissed because I pointed out what you're being? That's sad."

"And just _how_ do _you_ know what I am and what I'm not?" he stood close in front of her, towering over and staring down, "You hardly know me at all, and you're trying to tell me what I'm like? You're more naïve than I thought. Now if you'll excuse me, I have to be leaving. Good _day_."

As he turned and pulled in the shadow of the tree to grow into blackness, she snorted and stuck her nose in the air, "Tell me; am I as naïve as those women you haul around with you? Is that what you wanted? Did you want me to bend to your every whim like they do?" he stopped, glancing back at her, "For that matter, am I as naïve as _you_?"

The shadows splashed down around his feet like water, and he turned back to her, "How _dare_ you."

"How dare I _what_? How dare I peg you for what you are?" she balled her fists at her sides, "You hide behind that wicked exterior of yours, like any other coward would. Yes, you're cold, and yes, you're quite frankly the pinnacle of hatred. But whether you like it or not, I _do_ know you."

"You know what I _used_ to be."

"_I_ know what you are."

He rolled his eyes, "That sappy saccharine crap is just what I hate about this world. Everyone is happy, everyone loves someone; it's such a load of bullshit. If you think, for even one second, that I am capable of caring about a single soul besides myself, you're sadly mistaken."

"You dislike the world because everyone _but you_ has a way to be happy. Maybe Sekinetsu has a different reason, but not you. I'm sorry, but I can't believe what you said to me back there was all a lie."

He snorted, "And just why is that?"

"Because I want it to be true!" she snapped, slapping her hands down to her sides and lowering her head, "Aren't you _all-powerful_ enough to know that?"

She half expected some snide-ass remark, and he merely stared at her for a moment or two, "What _is_ truth? Truth is not conceived by desire, my dear, but by power."

She raised her head, pursing her lips just enough to look more annoyed than flustered, "So what does that precious _power_ of yours make true then?"

He actually had to _think_ about that one for a minute, "…Whatever I will to be so," she flinched away from the hand he raised to her chin, "And yet…As hard as I will myself to feel differently, the same urge still remains. I can take and take, and can tell myself otherwise as much as I could ever possibly want, but the fact is still the same."

She leaned away from him as he began a whole new assault on her, leaning closer to her face, "And _what_, pray tell, is the urge this time? Something else depraved, or otherwise devoid of-"

He forced her chin up with his hand, quieting her, and searched her eyes with his own, "You."

A tremor rolled through her body, and she tightly shut her eyes, "Just say it. Stop being this way. Please. Why won't you just admit it?" she whimpered.

"Admittance, my dear, is a form of surrender," he took her chin in his hands, tilting her head off to the side ever so slightly, "And I surrender to no one."

She grasped his wrists, wincing at the tremendous amount of heat that flooded her upon his quick, yet unforgiving kiss. He wasn't looking to draw this out, and was half engulfed in shadow while still holding her in place. Sirens were starting to blare in the distance, and there came a few fast calls of Medira's name. After the third or fourth time, he pulled himself away, keeping her chin still as she kept her fingers locked around his hands. He looked as if to be coming back for more, and she was readily prepared for him, but he instead tucked his chin over her shoulder and buried his face in the skin of her neck.

"_No one_," he reiterated, grinning viciously at her ear, "Except you, my dear."

He pulled her hands out with his, sliding his pure black fingers along her palms. She could feel the shadow glide between her fingers and slip down her sides to the ground. She watched him twist around through the shadow of the building, disappearing around the corner as a swirl of black. He had left her. Just like that, he'd up and disappeared. She had things to say; things to tell him. And he just…Went _poof_. As she debated on running after him, trying to catch him, there was a sudden sharp crack of her name, and she turned to see Jason standing in front of the building, waving his arms at her.

* * *

"Master Rubeus is back!" 

…Oh good _Lord_, not again…

Stampeding over from their seats beside the roaring flame glowing in the middle of the circle of trees, Magna, Flavia and Charlene _launched_ themselves at their returning "_Master_". In their typical manner, Charlene hung from his shoulders as Flavia clung to his arm and Magna held tight to his opposite hand, all three chirping about how much they missed him and were worried about him. It had taken him the entirety of the early afternoon to make his way all the way from the opposite end of town without being seen, and he _really_ didn't need these giggly attachments right now. Shaking them off, he ignored their loud pouting and found himself as comfortable a seat as possible in front of the fire. Sitting directly across from him, Gypsy continued to toss dried red roses into the burning abyss, contentedly paying him no mind at all. Flavia, Charlene and Magna huddled together close behind him, staring into him with prying gazes. After taking a quick sip from the metal flask he pulled from his coat pocket, he glared over his shoulder at them with one narrow eye.

"_What_?" he demanded, the corner of his lips twitching.

They all grinned wide, clapping their hands together, "How was your day yesterday, Master?" they echoed together.

He narrowed both eyes that time, pondering silently the option of just slapping them all and pretending they hadn't asked, then sighed, "I learned a few things yesterday, my lovelies. Perhaps I _re_learned some, perhaps not."

There suddenly came three swift tugs to the back of his coat, and his three stalkers planted his head in Charlene's lap, "Tell us, Master," they chirped, petting his hair, "We want to know what you did yesterday."

Gypsy groaned, "Oh _please_…" she muttered, tossing three more flowers into the fire to burn.

Rubeus just rolled his eyes, crossing his arms across his chest and opting to not even _attempt_ to escape, with full knowledge they would only drag him right back again, "One; children are the most annoying creatures ever. Two; hangovers from wine, for me, are far worse than hangovers from hard liquor. Three; women are _by far_ more complicated that I originally thought," they all giggled, and he found himself smirking for whatever reason, "Four; I have rediscovered my childhood hatred if _fire alarms_. Which, by the way, are incredibly annoying, and very satisfying to kill. And five," he sighed, half-opening his eyes to stare up through the trees and sliding his arms down to link his fingers across his waist, "Irony hurts. Irony hurts quite a lot, my lovelies. You'd do yourselves well to remember that."

They all stared down at him, all somewhat lost, "What _did_ you do yesterday…?" Charlene murmured, blinking twice, "Or…What did you do this morning?"

"Did someone hurt you in some way?" Flavia questioned, tilting her head, "If they did, we'll go and take care of them for you, Master!"

"Master Rubeus isn't so powerless as to be hurt by any_one_ or any_thing_," Magna puffed across in front of Charlene, directing it at Flavia, "If something _did_ happen, I've no doubt he's already taken care of it himself."

"That's probably true…" Charlene agreed, crossing her arms behind her head and tipping back, "No…It _is_ true. Our Master is much too great for something like that to vex him."

"Then why would he make such a comment?" Flavia snorted back, her lips pursing.

"To warn us so _we_ don't make such a mistake," Magna glared, tapping the top of Flavia's head with one balled fist, "We're not as strong as he is; we couldn't take the kinds of things he does."

"_I_ could," Charlene noted, raising a fist, "I'll knock some sense into _anyone_ who mouths off at me. And I'll do just the same to anyone who mouths off at my Master too!"

"Me too!" Flavia squeaked, placing one hand on her cheek and throwing the other one into the air.

"I suppose I could too, if he requested it of me…" Magna nodded slowly, crossing her arms.

"For our Master, we'd do anything!" they called together, linking hands with each other and smiling wide.

"You three are _so stupid_…"

"Ehh…" Flavia, Magna and Charlene looked down and across the flames at Gypsy, who was plucking petals from the roses and dumping handfuls in to burn, "That's not nice…" they grumbled.

"Well it's true," Gypsy rolled her eyes, tossing a single flower petal into the fire and spinning the bare rose stalk between her fingers, "You three are completely, utterly, _stupid_."

"And just _why_ is _that_, Gypsy?" Magna glowered, "If you've got a reason, tell us. We'd _love_ to hear."

"_I_ think she's just _jealous_," Flavia spat out her tongue and pulled down her bottom eyelid, "Yeah, that's it…She's jealous."

"Just ignore her. She's just stuffed-up because Master Rubeus didn't take _her_ with him yesterday," grinned Charlene, directing a nasty smirk directly back at Gypsy.

"Oh no; I _have_ good reason," Gypsy stood, holding up an entire bundle of red roses, a single white one settled in the middle, alongside a lone black one, "You three are so diluted by his charm and his charisma that you don't even realize what transpired last night. For that matter, you three are so mindless that you don't even realize what he's doing when he's not around. Not to mention the fact, you three are also so plainly ignorant that you don't even notice when he disappears and why. Such as right now, you blind little bats."

Looking to each other, then down at their laps, Charlene, Magna, and Flavia each let out short shrieks, tossing their arms into the air, "The Master is gone!" they wailed, clamping their hands over their eyes, "He's disappeared on us _again_! So _mean_!"

Gypsy dropped the entire bunch of flowers into the blaze, sending them up in a large puff of dark grey smoke as the flare more than doubled in size, "_You three_…" she gritted her teeth together, turning and marching away to leave them to weep on their own.

* * *

A heated breeze brushed against the lower branches of the trees growing in the side yard of the Elite's residence, scorching some of the weaker leaves right off their twigs. A shadow stood tucked behind one of the thicker trees; the same one he'd fallen from not too long before; and watched the closed glass doors of a certain room, high in the building ahead of him. He wasn't going to be stupid enough to go up there again. Nope. No-siree. Not a chance. 

But _oh_ how he wanted to.

When the doors to the balcony rattled swiftly against the frame, and when a wafting breeze of hot air swept under the door, the blond sitting at her bureau grew slowly to her feet. Her long black gown dragged along the floor, and she pulled her short overcoat onto her arms as she approached the doorway. Reaching out to take the handles, she slowly pulled both doors open and proceeded to step carefully out onto the balcony. She scanned the foliage beneath her, her dark violet eyes slowly falling on one single tree, with a moving shadow behind it. She managed a listless smile, waving her fingers just enough that she knew he saw.

Stepped out from behind the tree, his head lowered, he moved around in front and leaned back against the stabbing-sharp bark. Looking up, he stared at her, unerringly focused on only her. The smile was faint, to the point that it was almost nonexistent, but it was there. He looked quickly down, sprouted a wicked smirk of his own, and turned his attention back to her again. Her grin grew, and she shook her head, leaning both hands on the railing and looking down at him.

"How appropriate for you to be above me," he noted, though not loud enough for her to hear.

Hanging back, behind even him, two hot orange eyes glared viciously from the shadows. The stare was intense; filled and overflowing with hatred and disgust to the highest degree. Without warning, the eyes flared red, and puffed away to leave the scent of burning roses in the air. _How dare he_.

**_End_**

* * *

**A/N:** HOLY HANNAH, this is so late. oO falls over I am SO sorry about this being delayed so long. I've had a LOT to do, including applying for three different jobs in three different cities. I'm trying my best, I really am! Please excuse any typos you may find, since I'm not all that great with proofreading, obviously, and I hope you like what I have here. I know at least two people who do, so I'm at least DECENTLY happy with it. Well…'Tis all for now, so I'll now go and upload a new chapter too, yesh… 

_ProV_


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